


Ghosts of Paris Future

by rowofstars



Series: Ghosts of Paris [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Episode AU: s02e13 Doomsday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-01
Updated: 2009-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to <a href="http://nylana.livejournal.com/15073.html">Ghosts of Paris Present</a> and the conclusion to my short series. An AU Ten/Rose reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts of Paris Future

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/profile)[anepidemic](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/) . This is the sequel to the sequel of a fic I wrote for one of the [](http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/profile)[then_theres_us](http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/) challenges. The response to the first one and the way I felt at the end of it inspired me to continue the story. It's sort of necessary to read [the first one](http://nylana.livejournal.com/13390.html) and [the second one](http://nylana.livejournal.com/15073.html), in order for this to make sense. I've also put together a little [ficmix of songs](http://nylana.livejournal.com/16737.html) that I listened to while writing this and which also inspired me along the way.

The last time Rose was in Paris there was no revolution.

There may, however, have been a revelation or two. Their lips and hands met, tugging and pulling all the way to the small room, separating only long enough for their laughter to subside when she discovered she had forgotten the key and the Doctor had to sonic the door open. He managed it with one hand, hoping he’d hit the setting to open the lock and not the one for melting titanium.

Under the cover of soft white sheets, they spoke in the hushed whispers of lovers, making promises only their hearts could keep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow the weather always manages to be dreary on the last day. A slow rain drips down the window, and Rose sighs, tracing the path of one lone drop with her finger, cutting through the fog on the inside of the window. A moment later, the window clouds over again, as if she had never disturbed it at all. She wonders if that’s what they are like, bright and fleeting, disturbing the universe for a time until the ripples of their adventures settle like nothing ever happened.

The sharp ringing of her mobile brings her back to reality. It’s probably her mum, wondering if she’s going to visit soon. She was supposed to last month. Her thumb nail pokes at a button, successfully ignoring the missed call, before tossing the phone across the room.

She looks over at the bed, rumpled on the side where she slept, the duvet pulled crooked with a corner hanging off onto the floor. She flops down on the edge of the bed, avoiding the inevitable. Once again a suitcase sits open on a chair, waiting reluctantly for wrinkled clothes to be shoved haphazardly inside and forcibly zipped shut. She still hates packing.

Leaning back on her hands, she curls her fingers and crinkles the cool sheets. Time stretches and eventually the rain comes to an end. The clouds finally begin to break, letting through scattered slivers of sunshine. It waves and sparkles as it falls through the remaining moisture in the air.

It’s been a while since she’s seen a rainbow.

There’s a faint squeak behind her as the shower is shut off. A few moments later, the yellow light from the bathroom invades the dim room. She feels the bed sink and a pair of hands slide up her arms to her shoulders. His skin is still warm, but his breath on the side of her neck is cool. Lips brush the skin just below her ear, a nose nuzzles her hair, and she sighs, relaxing against his chest. The beat of his hearts is firm and real and just the tiniest bit out of synch.

She doesn’t understand how they found each other again, only that they have.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The water is warm and comforting. He feels like he hasn’t slept for months and maybe he hasn’t. It’s strange how a Time Lord can lose track of time, letting himself fall into recollections and fantasies, anything to avoid the inevitable realization. Mostly, though, there were just lies.

There have been so many illusions taunting him, each one as easy to believe as the last. The flash of her face in a crowd so real that he waited until the street was deserted and dark to give up, a hint of her perfume he followed for seven miles. He can close his eyes and see the sunlight dancing in her hair, smell the hint of spice in the autumn air, and when he opens them his heart would swear she was there, laughing and smiling, twirling so her pale blue dress would flutter around her legs.

He aches to see her that way again, eager and full of wonder, to replace the image of the broken woman he left standing in the wet sand.

Reluctantly, he shuts off the water and steps out, wrapping a towel around his narrow waist. He avoids the glare of the mirror, knowing the weary reflection that would stare back at him. He always knew she would leave him. Forever is just a notion, an ideal embraced by young lovers before their naivety gives way to experience. It’s something he foolishly allowed himself to believe in simply because she did.

Forever is something they are not meant to be.

Yet, when he opens the door and sees her there, reclining on the bed in his shirt, all he can think about is the taste of her skin. She doesn’t move when he kneels behind her and runs his fingers from her wrists to her shoulders. He can feel her pulse beneath his lips, so warm and alive, and the sigh she exhales as she falls against him.

He won’t linger on how or why, too afraid that if he knows the answer she will disappear, a phantom of memory in a lonely hotel room.


End file.
